


Subtlety, and the Lack Thereof

by MeansToOffend (goodmorning)



Series: Hockey RPF One-Shots [3]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff, M/M, no real substance, they are teenaged boys ok i don't know what else you expected
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 20:23:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9512006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodmorning/pseuds/MeansToOffend
Summary: "Auston is born with the shadow of an M on his wrist."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Surprise, West! Two stories for the price of one prompt!
> 
> Thank you for prompting when I badly needed it. :)

Auston is born with the shadow of an M on his wrist. It's very small, even for a baby, and cursive, with lines so thin the nurses can barely tell whether it's filled in or not. 

This is probably why his parents don't notice when the fill actually happens. All they can tell him, when he's old enough to ask, is that the color was there by his third birthday.

It's blue, neither too bright nor too dark, and Auston can see why his wristmate likes it. It's not Auston's favorite, though. That would be red, bright and happy, like the thermos of tortilla soup his mom packs in his lunchbox for his first day of kindergarten.

\--

The M is still blue when Auston's uncle takes him and his dad to a hockey game right there in Phoenix. 

He's excited enough just to be in a room full of ice in the middle of the desert. Then the game actually starts, and he's entranced.

They're so big, and fast, and strong, and sometimes they slam into the glass and it shakes, and sometimes they hit stuff so hard it goes flying into the crowd. He wishes he knew about this last week when his teacher had asked what everyone wanted to be when they grew up.

He knows now. He wants to be a Phoenix Coyote. He wants to wear a dark brown-red jersey and skate past everyone and score and watch the hats come down just for him.

\--

By the time Auston is nearly fifteen, the only constants in his life are his family, the blue on his wrist, and hockey. 

He can't even count hockey anymore, really, because that's changing too. Now he knows he might actually be good enough to make the show for real. The USNTDP is calling, the OHL is calling, and everyone wants to see just what he can do. It makes him feel kind of lost, like he doesn't have an anchor, and he must be kind of obvious about it because one night his dad pulls him aside and asks him if he's OK. Auston tells him everything, and it's a little bit like throwing up, because he can't help doing it even though he really doesn't want to but he feels a lot better when it's over.

They go camping that weekend, just the two of them, out at Lost Dutchman. They talk about school and basketball and other safe topics, and his dad actually brings out marshmallows, all sort of melted together from being left in the car. They try to toast some of them but it ends up being too hot and too much work, so they give up and just eat them as they are, enjoying the drop in temperature after the sun sets.

Auston wakes up early, out of force of habit, and finds his dad lacing up his shoes in the thin pre-dawn light. They go running, of course.

The sun comes up behind the Flatiron, staining red rocks redder. "This is always going to be here for you," his dad says, simple as that.

Auston feels _belonging_ snap back behind his breastbone as dawn bleeds over the mountains.

\--

He carries Arizona with him to Switzerland, his dad and a desert sunrise stored safely in his heart. He's glad to have his mom and older sister with him, but he misses the rest of his family more than he could have imagined. It hurts when he thinks about it, like a bruise, except bruises go away after a while and this doesn't.

So when the season is over and he comes home, he's kind of surprised to find that his new favorite place is the kitchen. Watching how comfortable his mom is in her own home, how happy she is to have her family all together again, the simple joy of making delicious meals for the people she loves - it makes him realize how much he'll miss her, maybe even as soon as a few months from now.

The night before the draft, she teaches him to make tortilla soup. He watches her chop red peppers and feels _home_ shift in his chest.

\--

Auston goes first overall to Toronto and is incredibly thankful it's not Winnipeg. Toronto at least has other sports teams to watch and things to do; Winnipeg is apparently just a frozen wasteland.

Also, the color of the M on his wrist looks really similar to Leafs blue. Auston will take it as a good sign.

\--

Mo accidentally high-sticks him in the face during a corner drill at their first regular-season practice. Auston puts a hand to his face and comes away with a small smear of blood. It's a new sensation: he's always worn helmets with cages before. Mo is apologizing right into his ear, loud and sincere just like he always is, but Auston isn't listening. He's staring at the blood on his fingers, and thinking - _Matts, you've really made it_.

\--

He scores four times in his debut against Ottawa.

The goal light shines bright in his dreams for weeks.

\--

Auston doesn't know when he and Marns became friends. If he's being honest, he thinks maybe it was the moment they met. Marns is just so excitable, like a puppy, and he effortlessly drags Auston along into having fun on a regular basis. Auston really can't think of a teammate he'd rather hang out with.

It takes him a while to notice the rest of it.

They're celebrating after their first home win in one of Toronto's many good bars. Auston needs a breath of fresh air, and Marns offers to come with him, and they're standing under a streetlight when it finally hits him.

Marns, for a local boy, is terrible at remembering to put on chapstick. Instead, he keeps biting his lips like he's not going to make it worse. Tonight he's bitten them so much that they're a little puffy, and red, one of the best shades of red Auston's ever seen. He stares as Marns starts chewing on his lower lip again. He kind of wants that to be his teeth.

_Oh._

\--

Marns invites him over to play some Call Of Duty. Auston keeps getting distracted by his ridiculous oral fixation. Marns chirps him every single fucking time, and it starts to get on his nerves just a little bit, and that pretty much explains how the whole chirp war eventually devolves into a wrestling match.

Auston has a couple of inches and more than a couple pounds on Marns, so it's not surprising that he gets him pinned pretty quickly. They're face to face, panting slightly from the exertion, Auston's right hand pinning Marns' wrists above his head. The whole thing gives him a sense of unbearable tension.

He thinks he can probably break it with a chirp.

What comes out of his mouth instead is, "Can I kiss you?"

"Holy shit, Matts," says Marns, tipping his head back just a little and closing his eyes.

That doesn't actually answer Auston's question.

"Mitch...?" He starts to ask again, but before he gets any farther Mitch _wiggles_ under him, and Auston feels a half-hard cock brushing against his ass.

That pretty much _does_ answer Auston's question, actually.

He leans in and kisses Mitch's dumb chapped lips. Mitch kisses back, enthusiastic and a little sloppy and so essentially _Mitch_ , and grinds up against Auston like he's desperate for it. Auston, who is _definitely_ desperate for it, grinds right back. He finally manages to position himself better and find something of a rhythm, rolling his hips against Mitch's, but it's not exactly smooth, dicks catching on clothing and each other, throwing him off.

Auston really wants to get a hand down Mitch's pants right now, to touch him, show him how soft they can be in bed as well as on the ice, but he can't. His left hand is supporting him, keeping him from squashing Mitch, and his right...

His right hand is still holding Mitch's wrists.

More than anything, Mitch hates when the guys chirp his size, but here he is with Auston on top of him, panting into his mouth between kisses like he can't get enough. The thought of it has Auston letting out a moan, still kissing Mitch because he thinks he might die if he stops, and Mitch's hips jerk up in response.

Auston grinds down a little harder and picks up the pace, his hips and Mitch's stuttering more and more frequently with little shocks of pleasure, and he's about to let go of Mitch's wrists so he can use that hand to jerk him off instead, but Mitch kind of pulls at his arms, and Auston's hand tightens around his wrists reflexively, and Mitch sort of gasps, going taut and then boneless. The feeling of it is enough to have Auston coming in his pants too, rolling off Mitch a little breathlessly.

"Holy shit, Mitch," he says, when he feels like he can talk again.

"Holy shit, Auston," Mitch agrees.

\--

Auston wakes up early, Mitch still sleeping peacefully beside him, looking like he might accidentally suffocate himself with his own pillow. The second Auston untucks the blankets from along his side, Mitch somehow manages to steal them all just by rolling over.

He's pretty sure not going to be able to go back to sleep, so he gets up, looking for some kind of quiet diversion to keep himself occupied until Mitch wakes up.

The photos in the living room catch his eye, of Mitch and his family, Mitch and McDavid and Strome, Mitch and Tkachuck, but the best one is of Mitch alone, grinning and freshly drafted, tie a perfect match for his jersey. It even has a leaf on it, like Mitch was going to be drafted by the Leafs or else, like he wasn't going to accept any other answer...

_Oh._

Auston feels dumb. His M isn't just _similar_ to Leafs blue, it _is_ Leafs blue. His wristmate learned colors only a little earlier than he did. His wristmate has loved Leafs blue Auston's whole life. His wristmate's name _starts with an M_ , for fuck's sake. 

He literally cannot believe how stupid he is.

\--

Auston is in the kitchen when Mitch finds him, searching for literally anything edible. All Mitch has, it turns out, is some quinoa that he refuses to eat because it's not spelled like it sounds. Auston would chirp that, but he doesn't want to eat the quinoa either, especially not plain, so he throws Mitch his car keys and puts on a shirt.

He's about to leave when he thinks twice. He takes off his wristguard and leaves it on the dresser.

\--

It's a good thing they're at a red light, because the look on Mitch's face when he sees Auston's bare wrist, right hand fiddling with the A/C, makes him think they would have crashed otherwise.

He doesn't say anything, just undoes his watch, shows his left wrist to Auston. There, bold and bright against pale skin and blue veins, is a large A in block handwriting, thick-lined and red, the color of Mitch's well-bitten lips.

Auston smiles, in the way he only ever smiles for Mitch, and kisses him again.

**Author's Note:**

> -To quote Wikipedia: "Lost Dutchman State Park is a 320-acre state park located near the Superstition Mountains in central Arizona, USA."  
> \- Matthews wore the visor sometimes in Zurich and also as a US national player before he wore it as a Leaf but that's not quite as neat.  
> \- He didn't get high-sticked at a practice either as far as I know.  
> \- This team full of rookies is so damned endearing _stop it, you are divisional rivals with my two favourite teams_  
>  \- "Leafs blue" has changed slightly over the years but not so much that you would notice if it was mystically on your wrist, probably.


End file.
